


so dawn goes down to day

by radioteeth



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), My Chemical Romance, The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Everybody Lives, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Nonbinary Party Poison (Danger Days), and then apologizes, everyone is trans but poison is the only one explicitly mentioned as being trans/nonbinary, party poison ruins everything, take the major character death thing seriously but not too seriously btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23436124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radioteeth/pseuds/radioteeth
Summary: They’ve known this all along, really, they were due to die as the sun set so many years ago, the night that Battery City fell.|| poison can’t imagine a life without better living, without the desert. they’re a child of the revolution, they were born with the sunrise over zone 7, they know their time will be up before the sun dips below the horizon. they’re made for speeding cars and loud music and they paint themself with blood, they cannot survive a quiet world.
Relationships: Agent Cherri Cola/Kobra Kid (Danger Days), Fun Ghoul/Jet Star (Danger Days), Val Velocity/Vinyl/Volume
Comments: 13
Kudos: 31





	so dawn goes down to day

**Author's Note:**

> sister fic/alternate ending to my friend [val](https://doublemastectomy.tumblr.com)'s fic; for an idea we came up with together, loosely titled "everybody lives but party poison ruins it." [read it here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23445220/chapters/56197300)  
> please note the warnings in the tags. there is quickly mentioned/referenced drug use, alcohol abuse, and suicidal ideation.  
> val velocity and the ultra vs were good friends with the fab 4 and were considered little siblings; kobracola is only referenced briefly, and volume & cherri are only quickly mentioned. 
> 
> party poison centric.

### 0\. 

It’s near dark when Poison wakes up this time.

They’ve been sleeping for longer and longer stretches recently; maybe it’s something to do with the amount they’ve been drinking and the drugs they’ve been doing, maybe it’s exhaustion or old age or the damn radiation finally getting to them.

They scrub at their eyes beneath their mask and blink the grittiness away, and then crawl out from under the pile of rocks they’d been using as shelter during their nap.

They swear they can hear people listening to music and laughing and one of them sounds like Kobra when they were young, but as soon as they look towards the Trans Am, the noise dissipates, and they’re left with ringing ears and an aching in their chest.

It hurts to think about, but it must have been years by now. Poison hopes that the only way people remember them is by how they used to be, gold and red and a jacket the color of the endless skies above, not shaky and weak and so, so tired. They’re pretty sure there’s been far too many nights spent in crowded clubs with blue-white powder from City pills and dried baggies of peyote cactus and zoneweed, nights spent in a starstruck haze, for them to ever return to how they used to be. Not that anyone’d want them back in the first place.

They’ve moved on. Every last one.

Poison starts the car with shaking hands and glances over to Mousekat, whose infinitely calming presence in the passenger seat is one of the last things tying them to sanity. They run a gentle hand over one of its ears, still soft after all these years, and close their eyes. 

Tonight they’ll take it easy, they’ll just drive around for awhile, they don’t feel like going out and trying to forget. It’s funny to think of the clubs as “out,” now, Poison hasn’t lived anywhere properly in years. 

They’d all abandoned the Diner after the war was over.

### 1\. 

It’s a long time before they reach the Mailbox.

They’re not even sure that they’re conscious of it- it feels like watching someone else as they stumble out of the car and tear off their mask.

There should be more ceremony to it.

They shouldn’t be alone. 

But they are, and it’s just them and Mousekat and the Trans Am, and they shove their mask into the mailbox before they can start thinking clearly. It’s like a jolt to their system. Their face is bare for the first time in years, and they bring their hands up to touch their face in wonder. 

It doesn’t feel any different.

They sink back into the seat of the Trans Am, sitting with the door open and staring listlessly at the mailbox.

It looks… dusty. Like people haven’t been using it, and Poison panics as they wonder if the Witch will show up to take their mask whenever they’re ghosted, they can’t be stuck here forever, they can’t watch the world move on and on and on.

It’s a long time before they move again.

With their mask gone, it’s like their the dust inside their head disappears, like it’s stupid to consider any kind of alternatives. They need to try and apologize, they need to try and fix anything they can. 

They have people to see, for the first time in years.

### 2.

The V’s still live in the pretty yellow farmhouse on the hill. There’s chickens clucking, a beautiful garden, and Poison feels a twinge of guilt as they make their way up the path. Someone must’ve seen them coming, because there’s Vinyl, lounging in the doorway. He eyes them as they walk, and they feel suddenly, irrationally wretched about the matted tangle of red hair that’s nearly to their waist. They must look like _shit._

“Why are you here?” Vinyl asks, in lieu of a greeting. 

Poison flinches, instinctively bringing their hands up to shield their face. “I just wanted to apologize,” they start, their voice breaking from lack of use. “I know that I can’t ever make up for what I did, but I still- I wanted to try. I just want you guys t’ know that I know I did everything wrong, and I’m tryna make it better.”

It’d been weeks of them being horrible and clingy and trying to get any semblance of their old life back. They’d been a drain on Volume and Vinyl and most of all Val, who’d they’d dragged down with them, desperate for any kind of familiarity. 

This seems to placate Vinyl, just a little, and he leads them into the kitchen, where Val’s sitting- he’s knitting, brow furrowed in concentration, and he looks up.

Val jumps at the sight of Poison, immediately pushing himself to a standing position. Volume’s gone over to stand with him, and Poison’s suddenly dizzy with nerves, acutely aware of how pathetic they are compared to the V’s after years of drugs and alcohol and hardly any food.

“Sorry isn’t really gonna cut it,” Val points out. He’s waiting on them to say more, his gaze icy.

Poison nods. They know. “I fucked up,” is all they can manage to say for a moment or two. It’s like they’re trying to remember how they used to be, sappy and friendly and eager to help, always ready to talk. “I fucked up,” they say again, voice trembling. “I didn’t- I didn’t know what I was doing to you, I didn’t know what I was doing to any of you. And I’m just- I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, but that’s not- it’s not an excuse. It’s not what I’d want to hear if I were in your shoes, so I’m not even gonna bother with that, I just…” They trail off, take a deep breath.

Val is silent, frowning.

“I’m sorry, and I’m really proud of you. I swear. You were a good kid, you still are a good person, hell, you’re a great person, and you were strong enough to tell me t’ fuck off.” Poison manages an awkward smile. It’s still endearing, the same smile from when they were young and happy, chipped tooth and all. “That’s- it’s really all. I didn’t have a big speech or anythin’ planned out, I just. I’m proud of you, yeah? And I’m real sorry. I never should’ve done that t’ you.”

Vinyl frowns, considering their apology, and when Val doesn’t respond after a minute, only continuing his knitting, they turn and let themself out of the house, and drive away. 

### 3\. 

Some strange muscle memory leads them to Jet and Ghoul’s house. They arrive at dawn, after hours of driving. It’s different than they remember, it’s been repainted several times and it’s splashed in graffiti and different colors. There’s a new motorbike sitting out front, not the usual old BLI model, but something similar to old American ones. It’s painted in shades of silver and blue, and it sits next to a glaringly green-and-purple truck with a fair amount of burn marks.

Poison lets themself smile at that. Ghoul’s still blowing things up, then- maybe he’s a proper chemist by now, or he’s responsible for taking down old Better Living facilities. Either way, it’s a nice thought. 

There’s a telescope sitting on the porch- Jet Star’s, definitely- and a sort of swinging bench, they’ve never seen anything like it before. 

It’s a long time before they walk down the driveway and to the door.

They stand there for even longer, caught in uncertainty for the first time in years.

It takes a minute, but Poison lifts their hand, and knocks.

There’s a shout from the second story. “Be there in a sec!” someone yells, and Poison steps away from the door. 

It slams open a moment later to reveal Ghoul, hastily dressed, with his hair sticking to his face. The ends are still jet black, but the roots are back to their natural deep brown, and there’s a few streaks of pale grey- Poison almost laughs at that- maybe they’d have gone grey too, if everything wasn’t covered up by their signature candy apple red.

“Poison?”

Right. They’re probably staring.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ghoul asks. He’s not _angry,_ but his voice is flat and cold, just like Val’s had been, and that might be worse.

“I--”

“We’re not going to play into your stupid reunion fantasies,” Ghoul snaps, and he looks ready to shut the door in Poison’s face. “We’re _happy._ We don’t want to go back to the war. It’s been more than a decade, Pois.”

Ghoul wants them gone, but he still uses their old nickname. Poison shoves him. Ghoul doesn’t move, but it’s not like they expected him to. “I don’t want a reunion, I want to apologize. Can’t I do that without you hating me more?” Poison’s almost in tears within thirty seconds of their meeting, they’re going to _scream_ if they can’t keep it together.

Ghoul’s expression softens, and Poison’s heart drops into their stomach. It’s kind of pitiful, really. “In that case, I guess…” He gestures to the entrance. “C’mon in, we should probably talk it out.”

Jet’s sprawled on the living room couch by the time Poison works up the courage to follow Ghoul. He doesn’t look surprised to see Poison at all, just gestures for him to sit down. Jet’s hair is streaked with grey, too, but he’s dyed it over with a deep, pretty blue. Huh. 

They’re standing there awkwardly when Ghoul unceremoniously pushes them down into a chair. They fall with a slight wince, but the chair is comfortable, and it lets them get their bearings just enough to manage to form a coherent thought. 

“I know it’s been a long time,” they say quietly, staring at the coffee table. They drag a hand through their hair, wincing as they accidentally tug at a mat.

To Poison’s surprise, Jet Star speaks up first. It aches to hear how familiar his voice is still, even after so long, deep and clear as night air. “Yeah, but you’re better now, right? You’ve gotten help?”

They look up in surprise. “No? What help’s there to get? I just- I needed to apologize. For everything.”

Jet looks confused. “Poison, there’s so much, we’ve figured out therapy programs and safe places and support groups, the City’s doctors are so much more skilled than what we used to have in the Zones. What are you talking about?”

Poison blinks, scratches at the dried paint on their knee, figures out the best way to brush off Jet's line of questioning. “Nobody… ever told me that. It’s too late anyways, yeah?” A smile tugs at the corner of their mouth. “I didn’ come here to ask for anything, I just wanted to let you guys know that I’m sorry.”

“We messed up too.” Ghoul speaks up this time, quick and decisive. “We could’ve gotten you help.”

Poison shrugs. They aren’t particularly hung up about that, not anymore. “What’s done is done, man.” 

And just like that, everything’s better. Not perfect- but better. Ghoul makes coffee, and gets a bottle of water for Poison, and they talk for a long time about _everything_. It’s the first time in awhile they can manage to speak without feeling like they’re imposing on someone, and they know something’s changed- there’s less emptiness, less to fill with drugs and alcohol and nearly crashing cars to feel something. Their mind is clear, for the first time in a decade. 

It feels like paradise, just to sit and talk with their old friends, it feels like the only semblance of normalcy they’ve had in so long, and they’re just content to sit and listen. Jet and Ghoul talk about what they’ve been doing since Poison left, helping the City heal, reuniting with old friends, ensuring everyone’s safe. 

“What have _you_ been doing?” Jet asks, and Poison shakes their head. He leaves the subject alone, and instead asks where they’re going to go next.

“I was gonna find Kobra,” they start hesitantly. “Is he anywhere around here?”

“Oh, yeah, actually,” Ghoul says. “He’s just a few miles west of here, right?”

Jet nods. “Settled down awhile back, he mostly teaches kids how to ride their bikes proper. He’s pretty close to Pony and Cherri, too, Kobes spends more time with them than he does here.”

Poison nods. “Thanks, man. In that case, I’ll just walk, do you mind keeping an eye on the Trans Am?” There’s a hint of finality in their tone, and their voice cracks just a little on the last word. 

“Stay for lunch, at least,” Ghoul offers. He seems to understand what Poison’s saying, and he smiles, bittersweet. He always did have a knack for these things. “A few hours ain’t gonna matter that much.”

### 4.

They arrive at Kobra’s in the early evening. He’s got a small house, made of whitewashed and red-yellow-orange-painted adobe with a stone roof, far enough out of the way not to be bothered, with a huge dirt track a few hundred yards away. There’s Kobra’s signature 27 leaning up against the side of the house, in a sort of shed, and a few other bikes, some half-disassembled behind it.

They’d carried Mousekat from Jet and Ghoul’s house. It’s heavy, but it was either that or presumably leave their friends to be haunted by an old mask for the rest of eternity. They’re not sure how leaving it with their brother will work, but Mousekat seems happy with the idea. 

Fuck, Poison might throw up, they can’t do this. They _can’t._

They’re standing there, frozen, arms wrapped around themself, when someone clears their throat behind them.

Poison whirls around, automatically reaching for their raygun, but Kobra- _Kobra!-_ reaches out to steady them, concern and surprise evident on his face.

“Poison?” he asks quietly. Kobra’s filled out since the war ended, he’s had a chance to get a few good meals, and as a result, no longer looks like a string bean. His hair is the same bleach-blonde, but cropped shorter and neater, and his racing jacket looks shiny and new. Whether it’s because he’s able to care for it or because it _is_ new, a replica like they used to sell in the markets, Poison doesn’t know, but they don’t particularly care.

“Kobra..?” The question catches in their throat, comes out messy and tearful, and Kobra nods, pulls them into a tight, bone-crushing hug as they drop Mousekat without a care.

“I missed you, asshole,” Kobra says, and that’s apparently a cue for Poison to start sobbing, clinging weakly to his jacket. Kobra starts crying then too, and they stay like that for what feels like ages before Kobra starts laughing, and then Poison starts laughing, and then they headbutt Kobra in the chest, and Kobra kicks them in the shin.

 _“Fuck you!”_ Kobra exclaims when he can breathe again. “Fuck you, man, you’re such a fucking asshole. I thought you were dead for _years_ , Pois.”

Poison shrugs- as usual, they don’t particularly grasp the weight of the situation at hand. “Wasn’t,” they say vaguely. “You guys didn’t wanna see me, I disappeared. No hard feelings, yeah?”

“Fucked up as ever, I see,” Kobra says, sounding amused, and then ruffles their hair condescendingly. “Sure.”

Poison yelps and jumps at him, managing to wrap their arm around his neck and give him a noogie. “ _I’m_ the older brother, take that back, dickwad!”

Kobra shakes them off like a dog, and they stumble backwards, panting, but still smiling.

“You look like shit,” he comments, eyeing them suspiciously. 

Poison shrugs. Their hair is fried to hell and they’ve eaten _maybe_ a week’s worth of food in the past month, but they’re fine. They feel _great_ , actually, and isn’t that fucked up. “What have you been doing?” they ask instead, grabbing Mousekat from the ground.

Kobra’s eyes light up at that, and he takes them by the arm, dragging them into his house. “I won the championship all seven years I raced, see?” He gestures to the trophies lining a shelf. “And then that got boring, so I learned more about bikes, how to build them properly, how to fix ‘em, now I teach kids all about racing and stuff, I’ve never been _happier,_ man. It’s so cool to have a real purpose, now, and help people…” He trails off, immensely proud.

Poison’s put Mousekat down and gone to the row of trophies, they’ve taken one down to examine it. It’s a sort of rainbowy metal, deep pinks and blues, and it’s been painstakingly painted with a photorealistic snake curving over the front, inscribed with Kobra’s name.

They’re not gonna lie- it stings to see everyone so happy without them, but maybe that’s what they were around for in the first place. Keep everyone together throughout the rebellion when they were needed, fade away when they weren’t. 

“It’s beautiful,” they say eventually. “I’m so happy for you, it’s _so_ fucking cool that you get to race whenever, I saw the track out back and it looks _awesome._ ” They’re completely genuine- even though it sounds so silly to say aloud, they’re so incredibly happy for Kobra. 

Kobra claps his hands together, delighted, though he seems to realize it’s probably not the best idea to ask Poison about where they’ve been. “Yeah? There’s more, and me and Cherri have been hanging out a lot too, he’s still pretty shiny.” 

Witch love the kid, Kobra’d had a stupidly endearing crush on Cherri since they’d met at the racetrack as teenagers. Poison hides a knowing smile at Kobra’s words. “You asked him out yet?”

Kobra flushes bright pink and babbles something, waving his hands and then hiding his face in embarrassment. “... No,” he says finally, awkwardly. “It- it’d be _weird,_ Peep, no.”

“Kobra, it’s been a fucking decade, ask the guy out already. He _obviously_ likes you back if he’s willing to put up with you this long, dumbass. Especially if you’re always this obvious.”

Kobra rolls his eyes. “ _Maybe_. But c’mon, it’s been years, we have more catching up to do than harassing me about my dumb crush, I wanna tell you all my racing stories!”

They talk in the hallway for awhile, before they eventually migrate to the living room and sprawl on the couch together, just like they did when they were kids. Kobra gracefully ignores the pale pink streaks Poison’s hair leaves, and similarly, Poison ignores the drab, uniform colors of the furniture. 

Poison learns about Kobra’s racing lessons, his favorite students and everyone he’s coached to victory at the many tracks that populate the Zones. They learn about Kobra’s own stunts as well, riding nonstop across the desert and through the City on as little sleep as possible, an expedition on dirtbikes through the mountain ranges and forests to the north, finding settlements of other desert dwellers, unaware of the City’s fall, only the white trucks that sometimes still drove through. He’s gone almost everywhere in the Zones, made friends with almost everyone he met, and it’s a few hours before dawn when he quiets down and falls asleep against Poison’s shoulder, snoring softly.

Poison sits like that for awhile, before they gently push Kobra off of them and onto the pillow on the other end of the couch. They tuck a blanket over him and bend down to kiss his forehead.

There’s something telling them to move on, something that aches in pinks and oranges like sadness and nostalgia. They’ve been in the desert long enough to know to listen, but they can drag it out for a few more minutes.

They wander into the kitchen without a second thought, retrieving the Mousekat and their knife and raygun from where they’d left them in the hallway, and set them on the table in a neat row. There’s a pen and a pad of paper waiting there, Kobra’s half-finished grocery list, and they turn the page to a new one. 

> _Hey Kobes,_
> 
> _I love you and this wasn’t a dream or a hallucination. I left you Mousekat and my knife because they wanted to stay, and my raygun to remember me by. I already put my mask in the mailbox, so you don’t have anything to worry about. I’m so proud of you and I’m so happy you made a good life for yourself. Tell Jet and Ghoul to keep the Trans Am, she’d rather stay with you guys. Take care of Mousekat, I remember you were scared of it when we were younger but it likes you anyways. I love you so so so much and I promise I’ll see you all again, but I hope it’s not for a really long time._
> 
> _Sorry about the hair dye, it comes out with hot water._
> 
> _Love, Party Poison_
> 
> _P.S. ASK CHERRI OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I PROMISE HE LIKES U!!!!!!!_
> 
> _P.P.S. don’t worry about a funeral. too much work and I dont want a fancy send-off. Love u guys so much._

### 5.

Poison drags in a pained, rattling breath. The more they walk, the more tired they get. Reality seems to fade and blur at the edges, ghosts of firefights and joyrides long past whizzing by. They’re walking, they don’t know where, but there’s something innate tugging at them, leading them somewhere, it feels like home.

They stop to lean against a scraggly old tree for a minute, closing their eyes and breathing in and out, in and out, a steady pace that they’d learned to keep long ago. They can feel their hands shaking, their head hurts, and they _know_ what a mercy it was for them to not feel this earlier, they’re surprised they didn’t realize what was wrong sooner.

 _It’s time to leave this world,_ something sings in the back of their head, a whisper of the desert winds. _Time to leave this all behind,_ it sings softly, and Poison pushes themself up off the joshua tree and continues walking.

The sky is lightening, slowly but steadily, the horizon turning to a vicious, brilliant red. 

Poison continues onwards, up a steep hill that drops off sharply to a large cliff. It’d been one of their favorite spots to sit before, and they choke back tears as they find their familiar spot in a cluster of boulders. They can see the diner from here, the old one, and they know it shouldn’t be this close to Kobra’s house, but it’s not the first time the Zones have granted them a blessing like this.

Memories press in around them, there’s a faint howling of a coyote like the one that saved their and Kobra’s life the second night in the Zones, there’s the old strip mall where they’d met up with Ghoul and stolen him away from the City, there’s the times they played games with the Ultra V’s and the radio crew, with Ghoul’s goddamned rigged dice and Jet trying to seduce every monster, they relive the first time they’d taught the Girl to shoot. _There’s a caw of a crow far above. It’ll be time soon_. There’s Korse’s face as he realizes his gun was only set to stun, a fatal mistake, there’s the Director as she watches the City fall, there’s the Girl with her mother, waving them goodbye. 

They _know_ they’re dead.

They died again three nights ago from a mix of exposure, alcohol poisoning, and radiation. They let out a slight giggle at how clinical it sounds, but it’s true. The night was cold, they’d drank just a little too much, they’d been out in the desert just a little too long. It far too long overdue.

They’ve known this all along, really, they were due to die as the sun set so many years ago, the night that Battery City fell.

They lean their head back against the rocks as the sun rises. It’s the first time they’ve bothered to watch in a decade. Nothing hurts anymore.

A new beginning.

They don’t close their eyes as the first ray of light hits them. They take a deep breath. The sunrise feels like coming home.


End file.
